


Deeper Indeed

by brokenbutstillstanding



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fantasy Racism, M/M, Protective Legolas, Whump, beards are important, but not really, hurt gimli, i am once again asking you to engage in the suspension of disbelief, sorry tolkien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:09:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28947213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenbutstillstanding/pseuds/brokenbutstillstanding
Summary: The night before Legolas and Gimli leave for the Glittering Caves a group of elves decide that they don't approve. AKA some elves cut Gimli's beard off and Legolas finds out about it.
Relationships: Gimli (Son of Glóin) & Legolas Greenleaf, Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf
Comments: 2
Kudos: 90





	Deeper Indeed

They had not yet left Minas Tirith, although it was their intention to set off towards the Glittering Caves the very next morning after making their excuses to the newlywed Aragorn and Arwen. It did Legolas’s heart good to see his long time friend so happy at last, hand in hand with his heart in the home he would build for his people. 

It was over. Frodo and Sam had succeeded where others could not, the strength of hobbits becoming apparently more resolute than that of dwarves, men, or even elves. And Legolas could not be prouder to call himself their friend. The most surprising friend, however, had been the gruff yet surprisingly poetic dwarf he’d become unexplainably fond of. Gimli had been an arrow hitting him in the side from left field, he’d lodged himself in the space between his ribs so suddenly and fiercely that Legolas could do nothing but let it happen. He’d had no time to guard himself against such a sudden attack, and he was glad of it. Now was the problem of learning where the arrowhead now rested. Did it lie in the tickle in his side when Gimli made a joke, causing him to laugh? His lungs also rested behind his ribs, did it pierce there so that whenever the sunlight bounced off the brilliant red tones of his beard Legolas found his breath escaping him? Even more dangerous yet was his heart, had it found its home there and made it so it skipped a beat whenever Gimli’s eyes met his and stopped altogether when the dwarf dodged a sword much too close to his head? 

He supposed it mattered not. No matter where he had been hit he knew this was a weapon that would eventually be the end of him, for no matter what regard he held Gimli in it was the truth of the matter that Legolas would outlive him by far. He ignored the plummeting nausea in his stomach as he pushed the thought away to confront another day. He hadn't seen his smaller friend the entire day, both busy enough with the present company and the celebration to carve out enough time to finalize their travel plans. Gimli had been the only dwarf at the ceremony, though he had done an excellent job representing his kin if anyone asked Legolas’s opinion on the matter. Legolas himself found himself swept up in the small delegation of representatives from Greenwood his father has sent for the coronation and wedding. It had made him happy to be among those from his homeland of course, but there was that small feeling that remained that told him he had changed as an elf over the time it took their quest to be completed. 

He still remembered Gimli’s father, he remembered the dwarf and his companions locked up in the dungeons of his childhood home. He remembered the locket the dwarf had carried, and he remembered what he had called Gimli (in poor taste, bred of contempt and ignorance) in the moment. Would he have remained that elf forever if not for this quest? If he had not been forced so close to Gimli? If the arrow had never hit its mark? Perhaps, but there was no point dwelling on what might have been.

He knew most of his fellow elves didn’t share his opinion, especially those from Greenwood who resided on land so close to Erebor, and they were not shy to voice their own thoughts on the matter to Legolas. 

“Gimli is as brave and honorably as they come. Braver and more honorable than any dwarf, man, or elf I have ever met” was his firm response when asked how he dealt with the dwarf for so long.

Gimli was his friend, and Legolas would not stand idly by while he was slandered. It only stood to remind him how much he’d missed seeing his friend today, and he thought it prudent to stop by the dwarf’s quarters and confirm what time they would leave once the sun rose again.

He didn’t make it all the way to his rooms before he was stopped by Mithrandir who seemed to be coming from the opposite direction.

“Ah! Legolas! What luck I’ve run into you here! I’ll be returning to the Shire with the hobbits on the morrow and I’d like to speak to you about the best route through the Greenwood to take.” The wizard clapped him on the shoulder, pulling him along as he passed.

“I’d be happy to help, Mithrandir, but I was just on my way to see Gimli-“ Legolas tried to turn back around but was no match for the old man unless he wanted to start a fight.

“I’ve just been to see him, our Master Dwarf has just gone off to rest for the night. I’m sure you can speak with him when he wakes in the morning.” Mithrandir sounded as cheery as usual, though there was a hard tone in his voice that left room for no arguments.

He supposed he could just see Gimli in the morning, Legolas thought as he followed the wizard down the hall.

It wouldn’t be long.

He could no longer ignore the stirring of unease in his gut once the morning came. Breakfast was served and yet Gimli was nowhere to be found. At first, Legolas thought he’d overslept, it had been a very exhausting past few days after all, but once a few hours had come and gone and he and Aragorn had seen off their hobbit friends and Mithrandir and Gimli had yet to be seen, he began to worry.

Aragorn waved him off when he expressed his concerns, offering assistance should he need it, and Legolas found himself walking down the same hallway he had the night before. He knocked on the thick oak door with his knuckles.

“Gimli?”

There was silence from behind the door and Legolas frowned, pushing down the panic that threatened to come up his throat. There was no reason yet to overreact. 

He knocked once more.

“Gimli, do you still sleep? It is nearly midday and we’ll have to be on the road soon.” He tried again.

There was faint shuffling from the other side, and finally, he got a response.

“Perhaps you should go on to Fangorn, lad. I’ll catch up soon enough.” Gimli called from inside, though his voice had a strange tone to it.

Legolas couldn’t help the frown now. He tried the door, the knob protesting against the lock that was apparently keeping it stationary.

“Are you well?” He asked. He knew a little of mortal illnesses and if one had fallen upon his friend he could at the very least fetch Aragorn for assistance.

“Fine.” Came the grunt.

He didn’t sound fine.

“Do you…no longer wish to go?” Legolas cursed the hesitance in his voice as he asked it.

Perhaps the dwarf decided he would rather not go on another journey with him. Perhaps he decided Legolas would not appreciate the Glittering Caves after all and their wager was moot, perhaps he did not wish to visit Fangorn with an elf.

“Nay, that isn’t it, I-“ Gimli cut himself off, but he spoke vehemently.

Legolas waited for the rest of his sentence but it never came. He eyed the heavy door critically, the brass knob seeming to glare at him. He could go and request the master key from Faramir who was now the Steward, or…

His lithe fingers drifted up to his hair, swiftly finding one of the long, thin pins he used to keep one of his small braids secured. Let it not be said he learned nothing from Merry and Pippin during the entire length of their journey.

It didn’t take him very long with his hearing to manipulate the tumbler lock so it finally clicked open gently. What would his father say? To see him breaking into a dwarf’s room like a common thief. The second the door opened and Gimli turned in surprise he found he didn't care. 

Gimli had been sitting in the wooden chair by the desk in the room, though he had turned around in his seat when he heard the door open. The first thing that caught Legolas’s eye was not the bruises peeking from the sleeves of his shirt or the one blossoming around his eye. It wasn’t the bloodshot and puffy nature of those same eyes, clearly fatigued with tears. No. The first thing that drew his attention was Gimli’s brilliant red beard, or rather the lack of it. 

It had been shoddily done, the beard had been hacked to pieces in choppy and uneven strokes. Not like he had seen from dwarves in mourning who performed the act with far more care and deliberation. This was done in no ceremony.

“Gimli…” he felt himself breathe more than heard it.

The dwarf in question flushed deep with shame, much easier to see when a beard did not obscure his face and whirled around to curl into himself. Hiding. From him. 

The shock slowly melted away into pain and hurt and a red hot rage. He did not need Gimli to tell him how important a dwarf’s beard was to them. Even on a battle campaign, a dwarf took the utmost care with their beards, each braid and bead having a special meaning that was yet to be known to Legolas. The only time one was cut was in a period of great mourning, even Mithrandir’s supposed death had not been enough cause for Gimli to cut his (although he’d seen the dwarf staring contemplatively at his dagger more than once after the incident). Their beards were a source of great pride and might, and someone had managed to overpower Gimli enough to cut his off.

Legolas found his voice at last.

“Who has done this?” He demanded with a much steadier voice this time.

“Get out.” Gimli’s voice wobbled, the humiliation apparent. He still did not look at him. 

For a moment Legolas considered heeding his wishes, but at the last moment, he decided that if he walked out the door now Gimli would only lock it again and likely refuse to come out until his beard grew back and even then the defeat may be too raw. Instead, he shut the door that remained open from his entrance and locked it again. 

Gimli’s head turned just far enough to confirm that Legolas had not, in fact, left. It was enough. 

“Mellon nin, please speak to me.” Legolas pleaded softly.

He wished he had the right words to say, to tell him that this loss did not define him or his strength as a warrior or friend. But he feared the words of an elf would mean little to him right now.

“Khurb-takhrabmî zars-tamanâl.” Gimli muttered in Khuzdul, clearly not meant for Legolas to hear although he couldn’t have guessed its meaning if he tried. He was, however, willing to wager it was nothing kind. He continued to mutter a little louder, in Westron this time.

“Stubborn…damn you…fuck off…” he made out, the dwarf growing louder as his hands began to shake from where he was pressing a piece of charcoal on some parchment on the desk.

Legolas stepped forward to prevent Gimli from merely muttering and cursing in various languages until his inevitable death, stopping the writing (he was pressing so hard he was tearing the paper) with a gentle hand. Gimli took a deep, shaking breath as Legolas pried the charcoal from his hand and placed it back on the desk. He knelt on one knee, taking both Gimli’s strong hands in his and turning him so he could meet his eyes. Gimli avoided his gaze, but Legolas simply moved his head until he caught it again.

“Who?” Legolas asked again, trying his best to coax it out of his friend although he could not hide the steel beneath his voice.

He’d half a mind to take Arod and try to catch up with the hobbits and Mithrandir, for the wizard surely knew what he did not. His strange insistence that Legolas wait until morning to see his friend made more sense now, surely Gimli’s state the night before was much worse than this and he knew Legolas-

What would Legolas have done?

He should stay here and do what he could for Gimli, and that is just what he would do. But if he’d happened upon him in the immediate aftermath of it he was sure he would have torn Minas Tirith apart stone by stone until he found the culprits.

The dwarf was clearly not going to answer him so he tried a different approach. 

“Will you tell me how many at least?”

That got Gimli to meet his eyes at least. He looked surprised. 

Legolas couldn’t help the bitter laugh that escaped him.

“You can’t possibly expect me to believe one man could overpower you, friend.”

That had been the wrong thing to say. Gimli turned to avoid him once more, but he still caught what he muttered as he did so.

“Not a man…”

Legolas sobered up as it sunk in. 

“Very well. Though one elf cannot be enough to overpower you either Gimli, son of Glóin.”

Finally, there was a sigh of resignation.

“Please, I don’t wish to talk about this further. Let it lie, lad.” Gimli implored.

Legolas wanted to argue, wanted to demand Gimli tell him the identity of his attacker so he could address it, but who was he to demand that?

He nodded reluctantly at last.

“As you wish, my friend. Do you wish to return to Erebor?” He offered.

Gimli rapidly shook his head.

“Only thing worse than this would be to let my dwarven kin know of it.” The shame was back, coloring Gimli’s cheeks.

Legolas wished desperately to hit his head against the wall, what he wouldn’t give to have Gimli’s gift for words right now. Perhaps he would come up with some on the way to Helm’s Deep and the Glittering Caves.

He stood, suspicions of his companion's reason for not wanting to leave the room. It did not take much rummaging in one of the chests in the room to find what he was looking for. It was not Gimli’s usual helmet, but instead, it covered his face almost completely save for a vent for his eyes.

“We can leave for the Caves tonight if you still wish to go. After all, we do have a wager do we not?” He tried for a light smile.

Gimli finally nodded after a long while, the puffiness in his eyes finally starting to go down.

“Aye. Thank you, Legolas.” It was the softest he thinks he’s ever heard the dwarf sound other than when he spoke to Galadriel.

He couldn’t help the sting of affection he felt as he stood and made for the door. Perhaps the arrow wound was deeper than even he knew after all.

He paused once more before he opened the door, looking back with a sly grin.

“And Gimli? Perhaps I can teach you some insults in Sindarin. That way the next time you wish to curse me, it is in a language I can understand.”

He couldn’t help the light laughter as Gimli spluttered, picking up a heavy shoe to throw at his head as he swiftly retreated into the hall.

Deeper indeed.


End file.
